


Four Lengths of Rope

by dance_across



Category: due South
Genre: Bondage, DSSS Treat, Explicit Consent, F/M, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Podfic Available, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/pseuds/dance_across
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray asks a simple question. Fraser does not give a simple answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Lengths of Rope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwyn/gifts).



Nothing complicated, you understand. The easier, the better. No suspension, no rigging—although you must know that I do love these ideas—but for now, let’s stick to what we know. Four lengths of rope, each tied to a bedpost. One holding each of my ankles, one holding each of my wrists. Not so loosely that I can escape, but not too tightly, either, as I won’t be wearing any clothing, and I’d like to prevent undue chafing.

But I needn’t tell you any of this, of course. You know. You always do it right.

They’ll be waiting outside the room, and you’ll invite them in, one at a ti—Well, how should I know what they’ll do while they’re waiting? That’s up to them. Or, should I say, that’s up to _you._ You’re in control of the whole scenario. That’s the point.

I imagine Francesca will enter first. No, that doesn’t mean she’s my first choice. I simply imagine that’s how it will go. I don’t mean to be egotistical, you see, but I imagine Francesca would shove everyone else out of the way in order to be first in line.

Oh, is that so?

You honestly thought I was oblivious to the way she looks at me?

I assure you, Ray. I’m not. I’m not oblivious to any of it. It simply behooves me to—

Yes, yes, of course, back to the story.

As I said, Francesca will be first. She’ll come in, and she’ll… well, for a little while, she’ll simply stare. She’s used to the hunt, you see. The art of seduction. She’s not used to simply being given what she wants. Perhaps she’ll even ask you if she heard you right; she’ll ask whether she’s really allowed to do anything she likes to me.

You’ll tell her yes, Ray. That’s your role in this. You’ll tell her yes, but you’ll also tell her that if she crosses any lines, if she does anything to me that you don’t like, you’ll tell her to stop. If necessary, you’ll _make_ her stop.

She agrees.

Francesca will touch me. Only on my chest, at first, because she won’t quite believe what we’re allowing her to do. She’ll touch my chest, and I’ll let her, and then she’ll touch my stomach. No lower. Not yet. Perhaps because she’s afraid, or perhaps because she wants to work up to it. Either way, she removes her hand then, and she bends down to kiss me.

You won’t like that, Ray. I’m sorry. But she’ll kiss me, and I’ll kiss her back. I’ll feel her tension begin to ebb away. She’ll run her nails lightly across my shoulder, up my arm. She’ll feel the restraints holding me in place.

She won’t speak to me. You’ll have already told her, you understand, that I’m not allowed to speak to anyone but you. And Francesca won’t like the idea of my not replying, so she’ll settle for not saying anything in the first place. She’ll settle for touch—and, after a while, it won’t feel like settling at all.

Her hands will gain courage as they roam over my skin, and they’ll work their way down to my hips. My thighs. She’ll touch my—ah—

Please don’t laugh, Ray. It’s not polite. Yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with saying penis—All right, yes, I _know_ it sounds clinical, but—all _right_. My cock. There, are you happy? _Cock_. Now be quiet.

She’ll touch my cock. She’ll stroke me. Lightly, Ray, but you must understand that that may be enough for me to… respond. Visibly. You’ll see me responding to someone who isn’t you—and I’ll look at you, just to make sure you’re all right with seeing this.

You’ll nod. This is your gift to me: your willingness to bear witness.

Francesca’s touches will become more and more assured, and she’ll ask you if she’s allowed to use her mouth—which, of course, she is. And so she does. She’ll climb up on the bed, and she’ll kneel between my legs, and she’ll lick me, long and slow. She’ll take me into her mouth, and she’ll suck, and she’ll suck—

And, Ray, that’s when you’ll step in. You’ll make her pause for just a moment so you can remind me that I’m not allowed to come for anyone but you. I’ll tell you that I remember. We’ll have agreed upon this in advance, you see. I’ll tell you if I’m close, and when I do, you’ll decide what happens next.

You’ll ask me if I’m good, and I’ll say that I am. And Francesca, now that she knows our agreement, and now that she’s finally had a taste of me—she’ll stretch herself out atop me. Chest to chest. I’ll feel her breasts through the shirt that she won’t have taken off. She’ll lean down to kiss me, and once again, I’ll kiss her back.

“I wish you could put your arms around me,” she’ll whisper.

I’ll smile at her, probably, but I won’t reply. And that’s when you’ll invite the next guest in.

Renfield—you know him as Constable Turnbull—will have accepted our invitation eagerly, saying that it’s an honor to be invited to such a unique and intimate event. I suspect he’ll think it’s some sort of American custom—or he’ll have his own private reasons for saying yes. But he’ll be there.

At his entrance, Francesca will scramble off me, embarrassed to be caught in such a position. Renfield will greet her politely, and greet me as well. He’ll comment on my state of undress, and perhaps offer a few kind words about my physique. Or perhaps he’ll simply shed his clothes and get right down to business. It’s hard to predict the details where Turnbull is concerned.

Either way, he’ll have a very simple goal in mind. No foreplay, no gentle touches, no questions asked. He’ll have heard your instructions outside, and he’ll have chosen his agenda before he’s even walked into the room. Before he’s even seen me.

Renfield will undress and straddle my chest. Then he’ll assess the angle, and he’ll ask you if he can put another pillow behind my head. Instead of answering, you’ll do it yourself. You know the best way to make me comfortable, and so you arrange me to my liking—and to yours. Renfield will watch, stroking himself lightly with one hand. Not that he needs it. He’ll be hard before he even enters the room.

Once my head is at exactly the right angle, he’ll come forward and feed himself to me. He won’t be large, but he won’t be small either—and he’ll take care not to choke me. He’ll probably talk the whole time, of course, so be prepared for _that_ —but he’ll make quick use of his time with me. He’ll tell me exactly what to do with my tongue. He’ll hold my head exactly as he wants it. And when he comes close to orgasm, he’ll fuck my mouth with as much control as he can muster.

He’ll make me swallow, of course. And I will. Gladly. I’ll swallow it all, and I’ll look up at him, waiting to see if he has anything more he’d like to do with me.

“Thank you, Constable Fraser,” he’ll say as he climbs off me.

And I imagine, here, that Francesca will have a choice comment to offer, as well. She’ll have watched the whole thing, you see. I imagine she’ll be a bit shocked, and a bit delighted. I imagine she won’t have seen anything like that before, not in her entire life.

In fact, I believe Francesca will ask you if she can stay and watch the rest. You won’t want her to, but this is part of the game. You’ll have to say yes, because you’ll know that I want you to. I want her to see. I want them _all_ to see. I want them to see me half-hard from the way Francesca touched me. I want them to see Renfield’s seed lingering at the corners of my mouth, just beyond where my tongue can reach. 

Have you ever met my friend Mark, from up north? Yes, that’s the one. The hockey player. Yes. You’ll have invited him, too, and he’ll have probably been the first to agree.

As Renfield gathers his clothes and thanks you for a lovely evening, you’ll escort Mark into the room. He’ll try to make small talk with me. Remembrances of childhood days and such, as he waits for you to leave.

You’ll remind him, of course, that you aren’t going anywhere—and you’ll remind him that whatever he does to me, he’ll have to do it as you watch.

He’ll take off his jeans and shorts—only those, mind you—and he’ll approach me cautiously. So cautiously. I’ll see him wondering, then, if we ought to do it the way we’ve always done it before. Only it’s not possible, not with me strapped down as I am. He always liked to be the one on his back, you see, back when we…

Anyway. He’ll look at me, and he’ll come to a decision, and from there he’ll act fast. He’ll sit on my thighs and he’ll begin to stroke me. I’ll become hard in his familiar hand. I’ll make noises—I always did, with him—and you’ll hate him for making me sound like that. But you won’t interfere. You won’t, because you promised. You’ll simply watch.

So will Francesca.

You’ll watch as Mark strokes me until I’m hard. His nails rubbing my foreskin, so lightly that—No, Ray, you weren’t the first to figure out how much I like that. You’ll watch, and you’ll grow jealous, but you’ll keep yourself steady, because as Mark moves atop me—as he lowers himself down upon me and begins to fuck himself on my cock—the only person I’ll be watching is you. Mark will be moving faster and faster, and I’ll be trying harder and harder not to come, and I’ll moan and moan as he strokes himself and rocks back and forth—and I’ll be looking at you.

I’ll be yearning for you.

As will you, I imagine, I hope, for me.

Mark will finish, and you’ll hurry him off of me. He’ll offer to clean my chest, where his come marks me in long white stripes, but you’ll tell him no. You’ll say that’s for _you_ to do. And you’ll make him step aside as you bend low over me, so low that you might easily kiss me, and you ask me if I’m close.

I’ll confess that I am. But you’ll remind me that we have two more guests awaiting their turn with me, and I’ll… that’s when I’ll promise you that I can control myself. You’ll kiss me then, Ray. You’ll clean my mouth with your tongue, and you’ll clean my stomach and my cock with a warm towel. I’ll love the touch of your hands, Ray. I’ll tell you so.

You’ll reply by stepping back and inviting Inspector Thatcher into the room.

She’ll arrive prepared, as she always does—and she’ll arrive having taken your instructions quite literally indeed. You’ll have offered her the opportunity to fuck me—and you’ll have used that exact word—and she’ll have assumed, to her great enjoyment, that she was supposed to do exactly that.

Which is why she’ll have brought a strap-on. Perhaps she owns it already, or perhaps she purchases it for this evening, but either way, she’ll bring one, and she’ll put it on. Francesca watches with wide eyes; I imagine she’ll have a lot of questions for the Inspector after this is over. And Mark watches, too. He’ll admire her. As will I, of course.

She’ll ask you for lubricant, which of course you’ll provide—and you’ll tell her, then, that it’s been a while since I’ve been fucked. You’ll tell her that she’s welcome to go in with no preparation, of course, but it’d only be polite to open me up a little bit first.

She’ll consider this. She’ll consider putting her fingers inside me, which is a thing she’s likely never done before. She’ll study my face for a hint of my own preference—but I won’t give her anything. I’ll simply look at her. My job is not to express my own desire. My job is to take whatever these people wish to give me.

Before Inspector Thatcher can make up her mind, Mark will offer to help. He’ll tell her that he knows how I like things done, and he’ll crouch between my legs, slick his fingers with spit, and begin to touch me. To work me open.

I’ll writhe and writhe, and everyone will watch—everyone will _hear_ as I begin to lose myself. As I begin to beg you to let me come, please, Ray, let me come… and as Mark works his fingers inside of me, you’ll come over to the bed and you’ll ask me if I mean it. If I _really_ mean it.

I’ll say yes. So you’ll lower yourself beside me, Ray, and you’ll put your hand on me. You’ll stroke my shaft with your hand, and my crown with your tongue, and as I grow closer and closer, you’ll tell Inspector Thatcher to fuck me. To fuck me _now_.

She does. She kneels between my legs, and she lifts my hips until I’m angled just so. She holds her cock steady, and she drives herself in deep—and as she thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, you’ll look me in the eye and tell me I can come.

And I do. I cry out, and I pull against the ropes, and I come loudly, with everyone looking at me. Everyone seeing me without the uniform, without pretense, without shame, and—

What do you mean, _why_? I’ve already told you, we’re exchanging—

Oh. You mean why these people in particular.

Well, you see, Ray, each of them… each person I’ve named… they all think that I mean something. They think I can give them something that they can’t get anywhere else. Francesca wants me to be her fairytale prince, which I’m certainly, _certainly_ not. Renfield sees me as some sort of role model, and god knows I’m not that, either. To Mark, I believe I’m a token of home. I’m something he can cling to when he doesn’t want to forget where he came from. And how can I be that, when I haven’t called Canada home in so long? To Inspector Thatcher, I’m a symbol of… of progress, perhaps. Of men and women serving as equals. But as much as I admire her, well, she’s my _superior officer_.

And this way—this way they’ll _see_ , Ray. They’ll see that I’m not what any of them thinks I am. I’m not a story, or a symbol. I’m just human, as easily used as any other. I’m just a _man_ , just a _person_ , just as ordinary as—as—

Beg your pardon? No, I’m… I’m fine. Thank you. But I’m fine. I—where was I? Oh, yes. And then there’s Ray, who wants me to—

No, not you.

Ray _Vecchio_.

Ah, no. We haven’t gotten to him yet, have we?

Ray will slip into the room without waiting for you to escort him. He’s the last person to join us, and he’ll be watching, too, as I come with your hands on me and Inspector Thatcher’s cock inside me. He’ll be watching, and he’ll be jealous, because he’ll think he’s missed the party. He’ll think it’s over because I’ve finished.

But it’s not over, and you’ll tell him so. You’ll guide him over to me, and you’ll remind him, fiercely, that I belong to you and you alone. And you’ll tell him that if there’s anything he wants to do to me, anything at all, now’s his chance. Now’s his only chance.

I’ll lie there panting, Ray. Waiting. Because I’ve never been able to tell what Ray Vecchio wants from me. Sometimes I think it’s simple friendship. Sometimes I think it’s understanding. Sometimes I think he wants to make me part of his family. But there’s been something different about him, ever since his undercover assignment ended. Even in the hospital, before we went north, there was something…

I don’t know.

What I do know is that Ray will look at me. He’ll look for a long time. He’s never seen me naked before, you see, and he’ll understand that he’s allowed to look—that I’m on display _for him_ —and so he will. But eventually he’ll look at you instead, and he’ll say, “Here’s what I want, Kowalski. I want a rain check.”

You’ll want to murder him. Please don’t.

Ray will say that he wants to have his way with me when I can have my way with him, too. He’ll say that he wants to visit us sometime. He’ll ask if that’s okay—and when you don’t respond right away, he’ll take you by the shoulder, and he’ll kiss you. His kiss will be a question.

And it’ll make me so, so happy, Ray, if you tell him yes. Promise him that he can visit us. Promise him that we’ll take care of him. Promise him that he’ll always be welcome—

\+ + + + +

“So that’s the real fantasy, huh? You and me and _Vecchio_?” Ray’s face is bright in the firelight. His fingers thread idly through my hair as I lie there watching him, my head cradled in his lap. He doesn’t look as troubled as I feared he might. Instead, he merely looks thoughtful.

“And the rest of it,” I tell him. “I’m sorry for going into such detail. But you did ask….”

“Yeah, I did,” he replies, lips twisting wryly. “And that’s a hell of a fantasy, Frase. Hell of a lot sexier than mine.”

I reach up to touch his cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with fantasizing about having sex outside. It’s a lovely idea. We ought to try it.”

“Sure, yeah, great, but…” Ray sighs. “I dunno, you ask me what my favorite fantasy is, and I’m like, ‘Doing it in the woods!’ And then I ask _you_ what _yours_ is, and you give me a frigging _novel_. Which, granted, I shoulda seen that coming, but… but, okay, _Vecchio_? Really?”

I sit up, then, and meet his eyes seriously. “It’s only a fantasy. We don’t have to act on it.”

“You’re right, we don’t,” he says. “Except… I dunno. Maybe? Maybe we could. Maybe I wouldn’t be, ya know, _completely_ opposed to it….”

“Think about it,” I say, and lean over to kiss him.

“Yeah, I will,” he says with a grin. “So hey, how does this novel of yours actually end? Not to rush you or anything, but I’m feeling some feelings over here, listening to all this….”

I look down. Sure enough, there’s a very distinctive bulge in his shorts. Smiling slyly at him, I slip my hand into his lap, and I rub him gently as I begin to tell him the rest.

“You’ll give Ray Vecchio the promise he wants,” I say, “and you’ll ask each of our guests, in turn, if they have anything else they’d like to do to me. Because their time is up. They’ll say no—with the exception of Francesca, who’ll kiss me one last time before she leaves.

“When our guests are gone, you’ll begin to untie the four lengths of rope that have restrained me all evening. You’ll massage my ankles and wrists, and you’ll make sure I have water. I’ll thank you. I’ll kiss you. I’ll tell you that it’s your turn now, and that I’m all yours. I’ll ask you to fuck me. I’ll beg, if you let me.

“You’ll keep me on my back, without ropes and without restrictions on conversation. You’ll fuck me long and slow, and you’ll ask me what I liked best out of everything that just happened.”

“What’ll you say?” asks Ray, as I stroke him through his shorts. He’s close now. He’s just about to come. “What’ll you— _unh!_ —what’ll you like best?”

“This.” I stroke him harder, faster. “You.” He clutches my shoulder and cries out as he comes. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Arwyn, you asked for t.r.a.s.h. and here it is! Except there ended up being a lot more feelings than I'd expected? Still, I hope you like it, because this here porny offering is my way of saying, hey, I like your fic and I like your Tumblr, and I think we should probably be friends. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Four Lengths of Rope [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245993) by [DesireeArmfeldtPodfic (DesireeArmfeldt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldtPodfic)




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